July 15, 1812

have been on this wretched ship three days and am wishing vehemently each hour for this nightmare to end.

I shall start from my first exposure the surroundings I am bound to for the next fifty days. I arrived to the ship at six in the morning clinging desperately to Abigail, the one servant my mother willingly parted with for my benefit of a companion and guardian on this journey, and we were both greeted with the most offending and gruff manners imaginable and looks that made my very flesh crawl, as if we were nothing but chops ready for supper! The only other passengers on this trip were an old ill mannered diminutive doctor, a mother with two young boys of unfortunate means and an unaccompanied young lady, who must have been no older than seventeen, and looked as though her life gave her the appearance of one much older and was by no means easy. Abigail and I felt terribly out of place, but were graciously provided with a room that occupied no others but ourselves.

We set sail at half past seven and by one in the afternoon I was struck quite ill and bedridden by what the crew described in jeering tones as sea-sickness, and laughed at my delicate state. I was unable to eat and only able to drink very little, and Abigail, bless her, insisted upon the doctor seeing to me many times through the night, though each time he was more and more communicative with his displeasure in being constantly roused from his bed, that finally Abigail sent him off out of irritation and resolved to care for me herself, of which I was most grateful for her presence by my side than that ill mannered little man.

I spent all day in my bed yesterday as the weather made for such terrible conditions I felt even wore off than before. Thankfully, today, we are blessed with fine weather and much calmer seas. Enough, in fact, that I was able to rise from my bed, take some tea and broth, and even braved the leers and comments from the crew to take a few turns on the deck. The air was quite refreshing, and I felt almost renewed, but as the night came upon us, the seas became less friendly and I find myself currently confined again in my bed. I am well enough in strength still to find the time to write, and have spent these last few hours writing to my Mama and Papa. I have begun following our travels across the ocean, and the captain has been kind enough t point out to me the distance covered each time I have been well enough to see him. How tiny the progress it seems! I am so terribly disheartened that today, even though my body was strong enough, my heart could not bear to see the ocean and the air that has so consumed my life now.

Before I left England, I slopped to our footman a note to take to Madeline's. I received nothing by day's closing, and hope that my letter was received, and I will find one waiting for me in New York; both from Madeline and a response to the second letter slipped inside the first addressed for Mr. Brennan. I find as I write it, and think upon it, my eyes prick with bitter tears. Will I ever see them again? If I had been more forward; and less timid and said something to dear Madeline of my affections, could this have been prevented? I fear I shall never know, and have resolved to write solely to him, and finally express my admiration to him. Perhaps he will find he feels the same, and will rescue me from this wide open prison I find myself in. These are happy delusions, and I know deep down I could never act upon them, but this past month has shown me that life is so unpredictable and a mystery to us all no matter how we think we know the routines. Perhaps it would not be as ill conceived as I think it? My mind is in a turmoil and I cannot escape it. It roils with the ship's movements, and will give me not a moment's peace.

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